


Forget-Me-Not

by LittleMouse



Series: Perfect Skin [3]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mild Character Bashing, Mild Language, Questionable Consent, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 06:40:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6108262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMouse/pseuds/LittleMouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Third story in the ‘Perfect Skin’ timeline - Angel and Spike go back to Sunnydale for an emergency, only to have a demon cause them serious problems - memory-wise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forget-Me-Not

**Author's Note:**

> I read one too many ‘Spike Gets Amnesia’ fics, so I had to try one out, myself. You can read it without reading the other two, and it should make sense. This is mostly fluff and barely has a plot at all. Have fun, anyway!

The only thing he remembered was a cloud of dust hitting him in the face.

It wasn’t the _last_ thing he remembered, or the most recent - it was the _only_ thing.

But since he didn’t remember anything else, this failed to worry him.

He blinked open sleepy eyes, yawned and stretched.

He was immediately surrounded by a babble of voices and a ring of worried faces.

He lay on his back and just gazed up at them.

"Spike? Spike, say something!"

"What’s wrong with him?"

"Oh, man, Angel’s gonna be _pissed_!"

"Why’s he just _laying_ there?"

"What was that dust the demon threw on him?"

"Why does he smell like a flower garden?"

"Spike? Can you even hear us?"

"Who’s gonna tell Angel? It’s not gonna be me!"

These people were really strange.

He wondered who they were.

He thought about asking, but it didn’t seem to be worth the trouble. He’d have to open his mouth and all, and right now he was just so very, very sleepy...

"Spike?" One of the small females, the one with red hair, was holding out her hand to him. "Spike, please, get up! Do you need help? Are you hurt?"

He looked at her hand thoughtfully for a moment, then vaguely realized that she was expecting him to put his hand into hers.

Well, okay, he could do that.

Maybe.

His arm had a definite disinclination to obey him, but he eventually got it lifted and lay his palm in her hand.

She was a lot warmer than he was.

How strange. Wonder if it meant something?

He didn’t get a lot of time to ponder the thought; the girl pulled at him, and then the tall boy with brown eyes put his arm around his shoulders and helped her set him on his feet.

He immediately wobbled and would have gone back down, but they hung on.

"This is _so_ not good," the boy said, "we’re in _major_ trouble."

"What do you mean?" asked the older man, peering at him over the edge of the weird metal and glass device sitting on his nose.

"Well, Angel made us swear we wouldn’t let him get into trouble or get hurt, and now look at him!"

He pondered the boy, ignoring his words. Tall, brown hair, broad shoulders, brown eyes... pretty... and very tempting... but there was something not quite - not quite _something_. He wasn’t sure what.

"He’s only dazed - I hope," the man replied, "Spike? Spike, how do you feel? Do you hurt, or are you just feeling weak?"

He gazed solemnly back, wondering what that word meant. They kept saying it. ‘Spike.’

It was a very weird word.

"Maybe that dust was like, brain vanisher?" a blond girl said thoughtfully, peering up at him. "‘Cause he looks like there’s nobody home."

"Buffy, please, now’s not the time for jokes," the older man said patiently.

"I’m not joking."

"H-he does l-look odd," the other blond girl whispered.

"Like I said, we’re all dead."

"Spike, if you’re pretending, I’m going to stake you, you know that?"

He finally found his voice. "Stake?" he asked faintly, blinking at her.

"Oh, so he _can_ speak! Yeah, I’ll stake your bleached blond ass!"

He blinked rapidly, then turned his head to peer over his shoulder. His arse was blond? How was that possible?

"Okay, he’s not faking. He’d never do something that stupid."

"I think you could be right."

"So... what do we do now?"

The older man sighed. "We’ll just have to take him back, and explain it to Angel. It wasn’t our fault that Spike jumped in front of that demon, anyway."

"Yeah, it had nothing to do with Buffy throwing him the magic sword and yelling, ‘Hey, Spike, kill that one!’"

"You’re not helping, Xander."

 

 

*

 

 

So, apparently they were on their way to someplace or something called ‘Angel.’

He was a little afraid to go with them; whatever ‘Angel’ was, it was making them all very nervous.

Besides, he kept getting distracted by interesting things along the way.

Every time he stopped to look at something - a person made out of solid stone, or a shiny post, or that interesting little building with the boxes full of moving pictures in the window, one of them would huff and grab his arm and yank him along.

Finally, the shy blond girl with the sweet smile took his hand and led him along like he was a baby.

He didn’t try to pull away, though. She smelled nice, so he was perfectly happy to wander along beside her.

"So, what are we gonna tell him?" The pretty boy was still asking the older man the same question.

Mainly because the other didn’t seem to have an answer.

"Well - we’ll just explain exactly what happened. Angel knows how unpredictable these demons can be."

"Yeah... that’s why he made us swear not to let anything happen to Spike. I think we’d better come up with a good lie."

"We don’t have to _lie_ ," the blond who had threatened to stake him huffed. "Angel _also_ knows how unpredictable his precious _Spike_ can be, so he won’t really be surprised."

"I’m not all that worried about him being surprised, Buff - I’m worried about him being angry enough to remove body parts."

"Come now, Xander, you’re worrying more than you should," the man interrupted. "I mean, after all, Spike is in one piece and physically undamaged. It will probably only take a simple spell to mend whatever happened to his thought processes. Angel will probably be annoyed, but I don’t think he’ll be removing body parts."

His curiosity finally got the best of him, despite a strange, deep reluctance to actually speak. He just couldn’t take it any more; he wanted to know. "Who is Angel?"

Everyone froze.

"Good heavens, we _are_ dead."

"Told ya so."

 

 

*

 

 

"You go in and tell him."

"Oh, no, I’m not going to be the one he tries to kill first!"

"He won’t kill you! He used to be your boyfriend!"

"That’s not going to make any difference when he finds out his ‘Mate’ doesn’t have a clue who he is!"

The boy gazed at her for a moment, then turned to the man. "Then you go, Giles."

He watched in interest as the man turned an interesting shade of grayish-white. "I have absolutely no desire to see Angelus again, thank you very much, Xander."

"Well, guess that leaves us with only one solution," the blond who had threatened to stake him said. All three of them turned and looked at the little red-haired girl.

"Eep!" she said and ducked behind him. "Spike, don’t let them make me!"

"Willow..." the blond said pleadingly. "Angel likes you. He wouldn’t get mad at _you_. And Spike’s not going to protect you right now. Nobody home, remember?"

"Home where?" he asked, curious again.

"Just an expression, Spike, don’t worry about it."

"I’m Spike?" he asked tentatively, still uncertain about the strange-sounding word.

"Yeah, yeah, Spike, William, various unmentionable, sickening-sweet names that Angel calls you," she grumbled.

William? Well, that sounded a little better - even vaguely familiar - yet it made something uncomfortable sort of _shift_ in his head. Something that told him William meant vulnerable, meant someone that needed to be hidden, protected.

He couldn’t be William. Spike it was, then.

"Spike," he muttered the word thoughtfully, trying it out to see exactly how it sounded in his own voice. "Spike, Spike..."

"You sound like a parrot," the blond girl snapped at him.

"Don’t be mean to him, Buffy," the little redhead protested, looking up at the big house they were standing in front of like she expected a monster to jump out and gobble her up, "it’s not nice when he can’t snark back at you."

"Yeah, and it’ll just make Deadboy angrier."

"Some boy is dead?" It was getting easier for him to talk.

"Never mind - again."

"An expression?" he asked, brightening as he remembered the boy saying that a moment ago.

"Yeah, just another expression. Maybe his brain’s starting to work, G-man? We could take him to the Bronze and hang out for a while, see if all his cylinders start firing again? Then Angel would never have to know!"

"Angel would never have to know _what_?" A deep voice growled, causing all of them to jump and spin around.

"Oh, A-Angel!" Willow stuttered in an unintentional imitation of Tara, "um, we were just talking about you!"

"Obviously," said the tall, dark man, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe of the huge house they’d stopped outside of and gazing at them. "What would I never need to know?"

Spike - he’d accepted the name pretty well by now - found himself sniffing the air delicately. Something smelled very, very good.

"Um, well..." the redhead was floundering for words. "Well, we slew all the H’fitz demons! And we only had, um, just a _little_ trouble."

"How little?" Angel frowned at her. "And please don’t tell me it involved my mate."

"Well..."

Spike saw the dark eyes swing to him, and something deep inside him nearly shouted aloud in greeting.

"He looks like he’s all in one piece - want to tell me why he’s holding hands with your girlfriend?"

The little blond beside Spike ‘eeped!’ and dropped his hand like it was red-hot.

Spike didn’t care. He shook off the frozen awe that had overcome him at the sight of this ‘Angel’, and jumped forward.

Those pretty dark eyes widened with surprise right before Angel was hit by a blond battering ram, knocked backwards into the mansion and onto his back, sliding halfway across the broad room on the polished wood floor.

"What the...?!" he managed, but Spike had buried his face in the man’s neck, instinct making him zero straight in on an odd scar - it looked almost like fang marks! - and begin nuzzling it.

He was quite sure that, even though he couldn’t remember it, he’d never been so happy in all his life!

Because he knew that this pretty, dark-eyed brunette was _his_! His, his, _allllll_ his! That was what had been wrong when he’d looked at that other pretty one before - they had the same eyes and the same color hair and close to the same height, but that was all. This one smelled divine, and a swipe of his tongue told him that he tasted even better.

The other one was just a person, but this one was his, his, _his_!

"Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine..." he crooned softly, still licking and suckling at that pretty mark. He felt big arms fold around him and a hand started stroking his hair, even as the deep voice rumbled again.

"Someone want to tell me what _this_ is all about?"

 

*

 

"So, you’re telling me that my Mate doesn’t remember me?" Angel’s voice could have frozen lava.

"Well, he obviously remembered _something_ about you," Xander pointed out, "seeing as how he hasn’t let go of you yet."

Angel shifted slightly, settling Spike more comfortably on his lap. Spike made a humming sound of thanks and continued to nuzzle against his neck.

"This may just be instinct," Angel told them, sounding just a faint bit wobbly.

Spike knew why - at least, he was pretty sure he knew why.

He didn’t need a memory to tell him what that hard bulge pressing against him was! He purred, deep in his throat, and moved a leg to deliberately brush against it.

The throat his mouth was pressed against moved as Angel swallowed a moan.

"Or maybe whatever the demon did is wearing off," the red-haired girl said. "We thought it might be, earlier."

Spike felt fingers wind through his hair and gently tug his head back. He nearly whimpered at losing contact with that delicious neck, but he obeyed the unspoken command and looked up at those pretty chocolate eyes. He gave the Angel a smile that he knew was distinctly hazy.

"If it’s wearing off, it’s not wearing off much," the bigger man sighed. "What do you know about the sort of spells a H’fitz demon might throw?"

"Not very much, unfortunately," Giles admitted. "There’s very little written about them, and what we _did_ find was mainly information about the mystic sword needed to kill them. There were few warnings beyond mentions of their ‘destructive nature.’"

"Wonderful," Angel sighed, letting go of Spike’s rumpled hair and allowing his mate to lean his head against his shoulder again. Spike didn’t go back to suckling his neck.

Angel wasn’t sure if he was glad or upset about that.

"So what do we do to fix him?" Willow interrupted his thoughts, her large green eyes worried as she gazed at Spike, who was still smiling that hazy smile as he lay with his head tucked in the curve of Angel’s neck and shoulder, his eyes closed.

"Fix him?" Buffy grinned. "But he’s so much _nicer_ this way! I’m starting to enjoy the peace and quiet!"

"Buffy," Willow’s voice was reproachful, "that’s mean."

"What’s mean about it?" the blond demanded. "He’s not snarking, or smoking, or bouncing off any walls. He’s not causing trouble or fighting or _any_ thing. C’mon, you have to admit it’s an improvement!"

Angel glared at her. "So you think he’s better this way?"

"Yeah!"

"Will you still think so the next time you call? Wanting help with demons only he knows about, or when you need him to help you fight? How about when you realize that I’m angry enough at my mate being harmed to never allow any of you near him again? Will you still think so when I refuse to ever come back to this damn town?"

"You wouldn’t..." Buffy started out confidently, then trailed off as his glare became deadly. "Uh, okay, so maybe you would."

Angel opened his mouth to continue blasting them, but Xander interrupted.

"Hey, Deadboy, I think your ‘mate’ is asleep."

Angel looked down to find that Spike had, indeed, drifted off. His face softened a little - his Boy always looked so innocent when he slept.

"He looks like a little kid," Willow giggled. She and Tara both looked ready to coo over the blond vampire.

Angel smiled at them. "Amazing, isn’t it?"

"Too bad it doesn’t last once he wakes up," Giles muttered.

"I’ll put him to bed," Angel stood rather reluctantly - he’d been enjoying the cuddling even if it _had_ turned him on. Of course, he was a vampire, so there wasn’t much that _didn’t_ turn him on.

"Hey," Buffy spoke suddenly, stopping him before he could carry his Mate upstairs, "if he doesn’t remember you any more, does that cancel out that silly ‘mate’ thing?" She gave him a hopeful look.

" _No_ ," Angel growled angrily, "and you’d better not ask that ever again. Nothing but death cancels it, I’ve told you that before. And remember - if he dies, I die."

Buffy subsided, pouting.

 

 

*

 

 

Angel lay his burden carefully on the large bed, then eased Spike’s duster and boots off. The smaller vampire made a faint sound, like a contented hum, and snuggled closer to the soft mattress and pillows. His Sire stood looking at his lover for a long moment, in awe of how Spike managed to look sexy and tough and fragile all at the same time.

Then he sighed, gently put a blanket over Spike, and forced himself to leave the room. There was research to be done, if he was going to get his Mate back to his normal manic condition, and standing here mooning over how pretty Spike was didn’t help.

As fun as it was, he needed to go.

 

 

*

 

 

Spike woke to a strange room.

A strange, quiet, empty room.

He blinked, and sat straight up, pushing aside the warm, soft blanket that lay over him. He got up and went straight for the door, ignoring the coat draped over a nearby chair and the boots sitting neatly by it.

He stared out into the equally strange, quiet, empty hallway.

It all seemed odd to him - in a vague, uneasy sort of way. He knew he didn’t ‘remember’ things - that was all those other people had talked about, after all - but he didn’t think it should include falling asleep one place and waking up another. Was that normal? How did he get here?

More importantly, where was everyone else?

_Most_ importantly, where was the Angel?

He didn’t know - or care - why it was so important that he find him. All he knew was that he was supposed to be with him, and he was going to find him, and that was it.

It didn’t even seem odd to him when he lifted his head and breathed in deeply through his nose, catching Angel’s scent like a bloodhound and loping silently down the hall, following the strongest trace. The scent was _everywhere_ , but this bit seemed fresher, more recent.

And it was going toward the stairs, and down into the darker first floor of this place.

Spike followed his nose down the steps, then looked across the room toward a half open door. There was light on the other side, and voices talking. Was that where Angel was?

The scent led in that direction, so he gave in to the energy thrumming through his body. He jumped over the last few steps and ran across the room.

Halfway there, another door caught his eye and he stopped - or tried to. Angel had taken off his shoes, but not his socks, and the polished wooden floor sent him sliding wildly. Only a quick grab at a chair kept him from slamming into the wall.

He stood still for a second, blinking in astonishment - then grinned.

That was fun!

For the next ten minutes, the only sound beyond the distant murmur of voices was the soft pat of socked feet running, then a whoosh as Spike slid across the room. Perfect reflexes kept him from hitting or breaking anything - normally, he wouldn’t have bothered, would have _enjoyed_ adding the destruction of the room to his fun, but without his memories, the idea didn’t even occur to him.

He was in the middle of a particularly long slide when the second door caught his attention again.

It was the door that led outside.

 

 

*

 

 

"So, you noticed that; first, the demon threw dust at him, second, the dust sparkled and vanished when it hit him, third, he breathed it in - you think - and fourth, he smelled like flowers?" Angel listed all the information they had remembered.

"Yeah, that’s about it," Willow said tentatively, wondering if they were going to get yelled at again.

Angel just sighed. "No incantations? No chants?"

"No."

"Great. What sort of flowers?"

"Huh?" Xander stared at him.

"You all said he smelled like flowers. He didn’t by the time he got here, so I assume it was part of the spell. What sort of flowers did he smell like?"

"I dunno - who can sort out flowers by their smell?" the boy was still staring.

"Anyone with a sense of smell can tell you the scent of roses is different from lilies," Angel replied, doing his best not to sound sarcastic. "Why do you think perfumes smell differently?"

"Well, they smell pretty much the same to me," Buffy said, looking up from the book she was pretending to read. "You know, they’ve got that floral fragrance."

Angel closed his eyes tight, trying to tell himself she hadn’t just said that. "Floral fragrance? Flowers have a _floral_ fragrance?!"

"Yeah, most of them sure seem to."

Xander made an odd choking noise, and Angel turned to see him with his fist stuffed in his mouth, his face turning red. Willow and Tara were staring at Buffy with their mouths hanging open, while Giles was slowing beating his head against one of the larger books.

"What?" The blond girl asked.

"Never mind," Angel managed, doing his best not to join Giles. "Anyone else remember a specific, uh, floral scent?"

Willow shook her head - Giles continued to bang his - but Tara spoke up.

"I-I’m pretty s-sure I s-smelled z-z-zinnias," she whispered.

Everyone turned to stare at her, causing her to flush a deep shade of pink and hide behind Willow. "I-I used to w-w-work at a f-florist when I w-w-was in high school."

"I didn’t know that," Willow started, but Angel cut her off.

"Zinnias - all right. Anything else that you recognized?"

"W-w-well, it’s odd, b-but I recognized a r-really r-rare flower; it w-w-was L-Lunaria. S-Satin-flower. We used it f-for r-r-really special arrangements." As she spoke, her stuttering began to ease. "It’s n-not used often, b-but it’s pretty. I really liked the s-smell; that’s why I remembered it. And I thought Spike s-smelled a little bit like w-witch hazel, too, even though that’s not a usual f-floral scent. And there was a f-funny sharp smell that I didn’t recognize..." She finally trailed off, blushing, knowing that was a lot more than she usually said during an entire evening.

"Witch hazel, Zinnias, and Satin-Flowers," Angel repeated, frowning slightly even while the rest of the Scoobies were congratulating a hotly blushing blonde witch. "That sounds familiar, but I can’t quite place it - Giles, have you heard of a spell that uses those flowers?"

"No," the former librarian shook his head, "but there are so many spells in the world, and there’s not exactly a comprehensive directory. I suppose I can start looking into spells with herbal bases."

"Anything that might help," Angel nodded.

"Very well."

 

 

*

 

 

Spike was reaching to open the door when it suddenly opened for him, leaving him blinking in astonishment at the man on the other side.

"Hey, Spike," the tall, dark stranger greeted him. "What’s up? Where’s Angel?"

"In there," he replied, wondering who this was and how he knew his name. Maybe it was a friend? He opened his mouth to ask, but another voice interrupted.

"Gunn, you want to go on through the door - sometime today?" the female voice bitched. "I have my hands full, you know, and I’d like to set all this down."

"Oh, sorry, Cordy," he stood aside to let a haughty-looking brunette come inside.

"Oh, it’s _you_ ," were the first words out of her mouth when she saw Spike. She set down two suitcases. "When Angel didn’t come back, we decided to see what was going on. Is it your fault again? Where’s Angel?"

Once again, Spike pointed toward the room Angel was in and once more, he started to ask who they were.

Once more, he was interrupted.

"Hello, Spike," said another man, one with a speech pattern a lot like the one called ‘Giles’ and a little like himself. "Where’s Angel?"

Spike heaved a sigh and repeated the pointing.

All of them went for the room he’d indicated, not giving him a chance to ask who they were.

He started to follow, then realized that they’d left the door open.

He peeked out and saw that it was quite bright out - the moon was full and looked huge; and there were some of those odd shiny things called ‘cars’ going up and down the dark street outside.

Those things were interesting, and he started to sit down on the broad veranda to watch them - then a small animal darted across the lawn, instantly raising some sort of predator instinct in him.

He was chasing it into the shadows before he even realized he’d moved.

 

 

*

 

 

"Spike lost his memory," Cordelia said flatly, in an I-refuse-to-believe-this voice.

"Yes."

"Completely?" Wesley wanted to know.

"Yes."

"How?"

"We were fighting H’fitz demons," Willow started, only to be interrupted by the suddenly excited ex-Watcher.

"Oh! Did they use their memory dust on him?! I’ve always wanted to study the results of that!"

"Memory dust?" Angel sat up sharply.

"Oh, yes," Wesley looked quite inappropriately happy, in Angel’s opinion. "It’s one of their rather less-known defenses, but I studied them for my second-year finals at the Watcher’s Academy. They mix their different spell-dusts from the essences of flowers, going on their different meanings."

"Flowers have meanings?" Xander gave him a definite fish-eye.

"Oh, yes. The usage has almost died out today, but it was very popular in Victorian times. Spike could probably tell us all about it... well," he paused, "if he hadn’t lost his memory, that is. Of course, the meanings are much older than that, but it was during the Victorian era that they were at their most popular. People would send each other secret messages with flowers - entire conversations would go on without anyone ever opening their mouths."

"Give us an example!" Willow urged, looking absolutely enchanted.

"Well, I don’t remember them very well... but, let’s see... ah, roses. White roses mean innocence, and red and white roses mean unity. A full blown rose means ‘you are beautiful to me’. At least, I think that’s what it means.  It's been a long time since I did the study."

"What about Zinnias, Satin-flowers, and Witch Hazel?" Angel asked.

"Well, I don’t know - except that Witch Hazel means ‘a spell’ and is used in almost all of H’fitz demon dust."

"So does this help?" Xander asked. "I mean, if we don’t know what the other stuff was supposed to mean, and since we don’t know what that bitter smell Tara remembers was."

Wesley blinked at him for a moment, then nodded. "Well, yes. We can look up Zinnias and Satin-Flowers on the Internet, and perhaps we can also find a clue to the other scent. Tara smelled it? on Spike?"

The shy blond girl nodded.

"Strong or faint? Sharp or weak?"

"Not very s-strong... just a w-whiff. B-b-but it was pretty sharp."

Willow had turned to the computer, bringing up a search engine and typing away diligently. "Oo!" she said suddenly, "this site lists a whole bunch of flowers and their meanings! Zinnias mean ‘I mourn your absence’ and Satin-Flowers mean ‘forgetfulness’. Oh, Wesley, it has bouquets listed, and it says that Wormwood was put with Zinnias because it means ‘desertion’. I didn’t even know Wormwood was a flower...?"

Wesley just shrugged absently, already scribbling on some paper. "More the essence, really," he replied cryptically. "Angel, the good thing about H’fitz demons is that there’s always an antidote spell to their dusts, and it’s usually made from the essences of flowers that have the opposite meaning to whatever they did. If we make a witch hazel base, and Willow looks up some flowers that mean ‘memory’ or something along those lines..."

"Then we can fix my Mate," Angel said, giving a satisfied smile.

"Hey, how ‘bout Forget-Me-Nots?" Xander asked.

Buffy snickered like it was a stupid reply, but Wesley nodded. "That would actually work, I think, but we’ll need more."

"Oh, oh!" Willow was bouncing in her seat, "Tara and I were reading an old mystery novel last week, and one character’s name was Rosemary, and they kept saying that it meant ‘remembrance’; it was a big plot device! I bet we can use Rosemary!"

Giles had joined Wesley in his rapid scribbling. "Will two be enough?"

"No," Wesley said, "if they used four separate elements in their spell - the Zinnias, Satin-Flowers, Wormwood, and Witch Hazel, then we need two more."

"But we have three - shouldn’t we only need one more?"

"The antidotes always required one more ingredient than the ‘poisoning’ dusts."

"I’ll keep looking up flowers," Willow said, and Tara joined her, eager to help. She liked Spike.

"I have a question," Gunn spoke up suddenly.

"Yes?" Angel, Wesley and Giles asked together.

"If Spike’s lost his memory, why are you just letting him wander around the house?"

"He’s not; he’s asleep. Otherwise, I’d have him in here with us," Angel said.

"Oh," Wesley looked worried, "no, Angel, he was in the foyer when we came in. He told us - well, he pointed, actually - when we asked where you were."

Angel was instantly on his feet. He nearly flew out the door, and the humans could hear him shouting "Spike!" as he went.

"Wonder what trouble he’s getting into this time?" Buffy sighed, leaning back in her chair and tossing aside the book she’d still only been pretending to read.

"With Spike, who knows?" Xander laughed. "I’m gonna go help Angel look for him while you guys keep working."

Before he reached the door, however, Angel was back, looked wild-eyed and worried. "Spike’s not here."

"Not here?"

"Not in the house! He’s gone!"

"Damn..." Gunn said, jumping up. "I’ll help you look!"

"Me, too," Cordelia and Xander chorused.

"We have to find him soon," Angel said, then vanished, running for the front door as fast as vampire speed could take him.

"What’s the big rush?" Buffy stared after them. "It’s not like Spike’s gonna get hurt; he’s a vampire!"

"It’s forty-five minutes until sunrise, Buffy," Willow said, getting up. "And since Spike’s lost his memory, he won’t know he has to hide from the sun. Angel always said it was instinct to hide, but that the instinct was easy to ignore, like if a vampire was already inside. Spike might not know what to do. C’mon, Tara, there’s plenty of time for research later. We need to help find Spike."

"True," Giles and Wesley spoke at the same time, also starting for the door.

"So it’s scorched - or dusted - Spike, so what?" Buffy grinned. "At least Angel will be rid of him!"

"They’re mated, in case you forgot," Wesley’s voice was sub-arctic. "Even if you don’t care about Spike, you should think of Angel."

"Oh, he’ll get over it," Buffy waved a hand.

"When? Before or after he dies?"

"Dies?!" she shrieked, jumping up. "Why would he die?! You don’t mean he’d mourn him until he..."

"Don’t you remember anything?" Wesley lost his patience. "Mated vampires! If one dies, the other dies!"

"So if Spike bursts into flames, Angel does too?!" the Slayer grabbed her favorite stake, just in case, and followed them.

"No, but he’ll be dead within a week. He told me that the demon is what ‘dies’; and once it’s gone, he would slide into a coma and eventually just crumble. There’s no way to save him."

"Then let’s find Spike! What are you standing around for?" She nearly knocked them down as she raced past them.

 

 

*

 

 

Spike leaned against the window, watching those amazing moving things in the little boxes again. They looked like tiny people, chattering away! Were there really people that small? Or was this some of the ‘magic’ that those others had been going on and on about?

There was some other instinct - besides the one that had sent him chasing that cat and gotten him thoroughly lost - stirring inside him; something that told him he should be... what? Hiding? Sleeping? - but he was too mesmerized to listen to it.

"I should have known you’d be here," an angry voice said behind him, "what _is_ it with you and television? Do you have _any_ idea how worried Angel is? How much risk you’re putting him in? He could _die_ because you can’t stop staring at a screen!"

He spun around and came face to face - well, sort of, she was shorter than him so it was more like face to chest - with the blond girl who kept threatening him. "Angel?" he asked, looking over her shoulder hopefully.

"Yeah, Angel! Like you really care - you wouldn’t be out here if you did! Don’t try to fool me! C’mon, let’s go." She grabbed his arm and yanked him toward her.

Yet another instinct screamed inside him - something that told him that this tiny girl meant danger! get away _now_! - and this instinct he obeyed. He yelped and jerked his arm free, feeling something strange happening to his face, like it was stretching, but he didn’t try to figure it out.

He just ran.

 

 

*

 

 

Angel and Xander, searching a few blocks away, clearly heard Buffy’s exasperated shout of "Spike! Where the hell are you going?!"

Xander had never seen Angel move so fast - one second he was there, the next Xander was standing alone on a deserted street corner.

 

 

*

 

 

Buffy was peering into an alley, calling Spike’s name in an exasperated voice, when Angel blasted around the corner.

"Where is he?!"

"I don’t know - I thought he went in here but he won’t answer and I don’t sense him."

"What happened?"

"I found him watching TV in that store window - we should have _known_ \- and I told him to come with me, but instead he went into game face and ran! I didn’t threaten him!"

"You’re the Slayer," Angel growled, trying not to roll his eyes, "of course he ran from you!" He turned and let his own sharper senses roam the alley, but there was no trace of his mate.

"Oh, yeah - I didn’t think about that," Buffy actually sounded slightly remorseful.

Angel sighed and partially forgave her. "Yes, well - I’ll keep looking this way. Um, I left Xander in the next street - maybe you should check on him?"

"Oh, great, the demon magnet all alone?" Buffy rolled her eyes and took off, much to Angel’s relief.

"Spike?" he called again, sniffing again to try to catch a trace - there.

The wind blew the faintest, fading scent to him from the east, and he bolted in that direction.

It was minutes until sunrise - he could feel the warning crawling along his skin.

He had to find his mate, and he had to find him _now_.

 

 

*

 

 

Spike stretched out comfortably on his back, sighing a bit. He didn’t know why but he was _really_ sleepy.

He’d had a nap earlier, of course, but the effects certainly hadn’t lasted long. He heaved another sigh and settled down to rest, curling into a ball on his side -

\- then jerking with surprise when he felt a sharp tingle shock its way through him. What was...

Footsteps pounded down the nearby street, and a desperate voice nearly screamed out his name.

"Spike!"

Curious, he poked his head out of his little hidey-hole, and grinned when he saw who it was.

"The Angel," he called out in return, not realizing how odd that sounded.

Angel gave a choked-off cry and whirled around, his eyes searching for him. He didn’t seem to see Spike at first, but ran toward the sound of his voice - and almost ran right past him.

Spike wasn’t going to let that happen!

He snaked out a hand and grabbed a flying ankle, giving it a good solid jerk.

 

 

*

 

 

Angel, caught mid-stride, nearly fell on his nose. He managed to break his fall with his hands, only to be tugged over -

\- under a porch.

Where it was cool and damp and there was _dirt_ which was going to ruin his clothes only it didn’t matter.

Because Spike pulled him into his arms and nuzzled into his neck again.

Angel gave a moan of relief so deep that it felt like it was dredged up from his toes, and collapsed against his mate.

"I thought I was going to lose you," he whispered, burying his face in Spike’s gel-crinkled hair. He knew he sounded incredibly sentimental and maudlin - but it didn’t matter, because Spike didn’t remember that he would usually be teasing him for that.

Angel discovered that he really missed the teasing.

"I chased a cat," the blond vampire informed him casually, then a slightly rough tongue dragged over his neck and caused a few brain cells to explode.

The rest of them tried their best to sink down between his legs.

"Spike - Spike, please don’t do that."

"Why?" Blue eyes gave him a half-hearted glare. "I like this mark."

Angel’s subconscious jotted down a note to discuss that with Wesley, to try and research exactly how instinctual and subliminal mating bonds went - his mate obviously didn’t remember what it was, but he somehow knew it was important.

His conscious tossed his subconscious out a mental window and devoted itself to the proper response - ducking his head, whispering ‘i like yours, too’ and darting out his tongue to swipe the neglected bite mark on his mate’s neck.

Spike gave a very satisfactory groan and pressed closer to him - and Angel was suddenly faced with a dilemma.

Was this right? Spike didn’t know who Angel was - not really. It was only instinct that was making him act the way he was. He had no idea that they were mated; he seemed completely innocent and ready to do no more than press his arousal against Angel’s leg. It had suddenly occurred to Angel that Spike didn’t know there _was_ more - he didn’t remember.

So should he let this go further, or not? Would he be taking advantage of his mate? Or was it all right, since Spike _was_ his mate, whether he remembered that he was or not. Vampire tradition said that Angel, as the elder of a mated pair, had the right to do anything he wanted to his mate, but the last thing he wanted to do was to hurt Spike.

Even though he wouldn’t hurt him physically - he’d never do that, ever again, beyond biting or the rather rough sex that Spike enjoyed - would it hurt him emotionally? Would taking him now be like... well, like rape? He seemed so innocent, so trusting, and he obviously didn’t have the slightest idea what was going on...

Spike gave an impatient growl and his fingers were suddenly tugging at Angel’s waistband, puzzling out the button and zipper.

All right, so maybe he _did_ know what was going on! But how could that be, when according to the others, he didn’t even know his own name until they told him? Was this instinct, or -

Angel suddenly forgot what he was thinking when Spike’s hand wrapped around his erection and gave it a firm squeeze.

All right - he started it!

Angel promptly rolled over and pressed Spike into the damp ground, nearly ripping his mate’s jeans open to get at the hard length that had been pressing against his thigh.

Spike gave him a completely happy grin and willingly spread his legs wider, making Angel slip between them with a surprised grunt, their groins pressing tightly together.

Angel’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the feeling of Spike’s cock against his - both of them hard and ready. He worked his hand between their bodies and grasped both shafts, giving them a hard stroke that made Spike make some interesting noises.

Angel made a few of his own, continuing to stroke both of them roughly, his hand sliding as it became coated with precome.

Spike began to writhe beneath him in a very satisfactory way, gasps and moans escaping him as Angel’s hand moved faster, harder. Angel himself had been on edge all evening, ever since his mate had been brought to him in this condition. His nerves had been almost at the breaking point _before_ he’d discovered his mate missing right before the sun was about to come up - his body had been screaming for some sort of stress release for hours now, but he’d pushed it back and ignored it.

Now it wasn’t going to wait any longer - Spike felt so perfect, so right, squirming beneath him, held down, the silky slick skin of his cock pressed against Angel’s, slipping through his fingers, his blue eyes hazy with pleasure, his long, slender neck arched toward him as the blond head went back in ecstasy, the red mating mark standing out sharply.

Angel gave completely in to his demon; he morphed and sank razored fangs into that mark, into his mate’s neck, gulping down the rich, sweet blood.

Spike howled - with fear or pleasure, Angel couldn’t tell - his entire body arched and cool liquid splashed over Angel’s hand.

The older vampire growled with pleasure, his fangs digging in deeper, then he was thrusting wildly as his own climax overtook him, adding to the wetness between them. He let himself collapse into a pleasant grey haze, giving one brief thought of gratefulness that his mate didn’t have to breathe, because otherwise he’d be smothering him.

Then he was asleep.

 

 

*

 

 

He woke to the warm haze of just-after-sunset, to find himself pressed against the cinder block foundation of the house whose porch they’d sheltered under. They were yards out of reach of any stray ray of sunlight, and Angel wondered anew at how Spike’s instincts had protected them. Not only had he found this place and pulled Angel into it, but he had to have been the one that pulled them even further back into safety.

There were fingers on his face, trailing delicately across his forehead, down his nose, over his cheeks and back up to his forehead, and he suddenly realized that he hadn’t shifted back out of game face.

"Are you supposed to look like this?" his mate’s voice whispered, low and throaty with sleep.

Angel shifted - that voice making his groin stir with interest - and nodded. "It’s, er, normal. For some people."

"Is this what my face did, when that yellow-haired girl was yelling?"

"Yes," Angel nodded.

"Oh." That was all Spike said, his voice sounding neither curious nor worried.

It was that same blandness that made Angel shake off his sleepy haze and start working his way out from under the porch, pulling his mate after him. He wanted his snarky, sarcastic little blond terror back, not this meek, almost bored near-stranger. He’d love Spike forever, in any condition he happened to be in, but that didn’t mean he was going to deal with this when he didn’t _have_ to. The humans ought to have the spell and the ingredients worked out by now - and anyway, he didn’t want to risk a repeat of last night.

His nerves couldn’t take another hunt through Sunnydale for a mate who had innocently wandered off.

 

 

*

 

 

"Oh, thank goodness!" Wesley nearly shouted when they came into the mansion. "We didn’t know if you were dust or..."

"Angel!" Buffy’s shriek of happiness cut his words off as the small blond girl launched herself at the bigger vampire.

Angel caught her, gave her a brief hug, and sat her back on her feet. "Wesley, Giles - did you work things out?" he asked, darting out a hand and catching Spike when he started to walk toward a cabinet full of curios. He wasn’t letting him away from his side, forget about letting him out of his sight.

"Hey, guys!" Xander burst through the door before Wesley could continue, "I got the Forget-Me-Nots! Old Mrs. Howell had some in her garden and she didn’t mind giving me a few - oh, hey, Deadboy! See ya made it through the night! Spike... man, you’ve got mud and grass all down your back."

"We’ll be taking a bath soon," Angel said coolly, not about to explain _why_ Spike’s back was so dirty. "But first, is the spell ready?"

"Yes," Wesley said happily, "We have the Witch Hazel base, and we have Rosemary, the Forget-Me-Nots, and Periwinkles, Syringa and Pansies. We just need to add them all together and use a burning spell to turn them into dust - it’s either that or wait until they dry out, then crush them."

"Use the burning spell," Angel said quickly, catching Spike again as he tried to go examine the weapons laying openly on a table.

"Right," Wesley nodded, obviously trying not to snicker, "bring him in here, and we’ll get him all fixed up."

"Just out of curiosity," Angel started as he followed him into the study, tugging his mate along and being trailed by a depressed-looking Buffy and a slightly hyper Xander, "what do the other two flowers mean?"

"Periwinkles are for ‘sweet memories’, and Pansy means ‘you occupy my thoughts’," Willow chirped out the answer. She and Tara had been the ones to look them up, while they were waiting through the worrisome daylight hours, unable to get any rest until they knew if Spike and Angel were still alive - or as close as they got, anyway. "Syringa just means ‘memories’, so I guess it covers the good and bad memories."

"Where is Gunn?" Angel looked around the room. "For that matter, where are Giles and Cordelia?"

"Still out looking for you," Wesley replied absently, fiddling with the ingredients laid out on a wooden table. "Willow, would you mind calling their cell phones? Tell them it’s all right, they can come back now."

"Can we do the spell now, or do we have to wait for them?" the redheaded witch asked anxiously even as she reached for the phone.

"I can do the burning spell on my own," was the reply, "then you, Tara, and I will be more than adequate for the memory charm." Even as he spoke, he was placing the flowers and the Witch Hazel into a large pewter bowl. A murmured word, and it all went up in a puff of scented smoke.

"Is that what you use?" Angel asked, peering at the soft grey dust left behind.

"After speaking the charm over it, yes," Wesley said, motioning for the two girls to come closer. The three of them then bent over a notebook he’d been scribbling in for hours, while they’d been researching flower-meanings, waiting anxiously to find out if all they were learning would be needed or if it would, instead, be useless - because Spike or Angel - or both - were dead.

"We’ll be about fifteen minutes," Wesley whispered when Angel continued to hover, "I’d suggest you chase Spike down, because he just followed Xander back into the main hall."

"If this goes on much longer, I’m buying him one of those little collars with a bell," Angel growled, and hurried out of the room, leaving the humans laughing after him.

He found Spike showing Xander exactly how to slide across the polished wood floor. Buffy was staring at them like they were both idiots as they whooped and shouted, slipping and sliding, and often enough, crashing into the walls or furniture.

Angel sighed.

Then he shrugged, took off his shoes, and joined them.

 

 

*

 

 

The only thing he remembered was a cloud of dust hitting him in the face.

It wasn’t the _last_ thing he remembered, or the most recent - it was the _only_ thing.

But since he didn’t remember anything else, this failed to worry him.

He blinked open sleepy eyes, yawned and stretched.

He was immediately surrounded by a babble of voices and a ring of worried faces.

He lay on his back and just gazed up at them.

"Spike? Spike, say something!"

He blinked again, and memories came rushing back into his head. It took every bit of self-control he had in him to keep his face blank, when he _wanted_ to curl up in a little ball and whimper.

Bloody hell, he’d acted like a brain dead infant! They’d never let him live it down - sliding around in his sock feet, getting mesmerized by a store full of televisions and by shiny lamp posts, chasing a cat and getting lost before sunrise...

...of course, that had led to some pretty interesting not-quite-sex, even if it had been in the mud!

"Didn’t it work?" Angel’s voice asked, thick with anxiety, and his mate’s worried face was suddenly looming in his vision. A familiar hand wrapped gently around his jaw, turning his head back and forth to gaze worriedly into his eyes. "Why isn’t he talking?"

"He didn’t talk for a while after he was hit with the first spell, either," Willow’s soft, worried voice replied.

Spike very nearly informed them that he was fine - then a sudden wicked thought occurred to him, making his demon nearly jump with glee.

How long had it been, exactly, since his Sire was this worried about him?

And just how long had it been since he, being gentle and cautious of the new bond between them, had gotten his mate’s ‘knickers in a twist’, as he had used to refer to it?

Then there was the fact that he deserved to get just a _little_ of his own back, after both Tara and Angel had led him around by the hand, like he was a baby, and how not one single person had been willing to let him stop and study the things his nearly blank mind had been interested in...

Oh, this was going to be fun!

Angel’s hand shifted, grasping his arm and carefully pulling him to his feet. For an instant, vertigo overcame him and like before, he nearly went right back down. This time, it was Angel who slid an arm around him, holding him up.

Everyone was staring at him, like they were waiting for him to do tricks or explode.

He had to bite his tongue to keep the evil grin from spreading across his face. Just as soon as he could feel his legs, he’d show them some tricks!

"It _should_ have worked," Wesley said. "Maybe we should research the flowers again? Perhaps some of them had deeper meanings... or different ones..."

"We checked all kinds of sites!" Willow sounded slightly huffy, like she usually did when someone questioned her.

"I’m not saying that you didn’t, just that perhaps the meanings had changed over time. Maybe if we could find some of the older books..."

"What if he’s faking?" Buffy’s strident voice broke in.

"That’s what you said before and he wasn’t," Xander helpfully pointed out and was glared at for his trouble.

Too bad the bint was right this time around, Spike thought. He remembered how he’d acted at first, and shuffled slowly away from Angel, straight toward a gleaming mirror over an antique table, pretending to be fascinated by the gleam.

Of course, the fact that Buffy’s purse was laying right next to it was only a coincidence.

Angel watched him carefully to see where he was going, then turned to keep discussing the spell with Wesley and Willow, trying to think of something they might have forgotten.

Spike took a quick look at Xander, Buffy and Tara. Finding them occupied in listening to the others, his hand shot out and snatched a handful of soil from a nearby potted plant. A second later, and he took another, then another and yet anther.

Then he grinned and moved over to the brass coatrack, pretending to examine _it_ , and promptly wiped the evidence off his hand - onto the inside of Giles’ expensive tweed jacket, which the man had left behind. The day had probably been to hot for it, not that Spike cared. It was enough that it was there. Well, that took care of Buffy and Giles... should he do anything to Xander and Tara? Tara had led him around, but she had been sweet about it, and Willow had sort of protected him.

And Xander, it had to be admitted, had played the sliding game without acting like he was only patronizing a small child. Dammit, he’d have to leave them alone.

This time.

Or he could do something mild - even milder than what he had already done. Let’s see, what had he done after he was hit by the first spell, besides acting like a retarded magpie, interested in anything shiny?

Oh, yes.

Maybe he wouldn’t waste any time playing more tricks on the Scoobies. Maybe he’d get straight to the important stuff.

Angel gave a surprised ‘eep!’ as the slender body he’d only been half-paying attention to suddenly turned and attacked him, Spike’s mouth fastening like a limpet over his mating mark and sucking hard. His arms flailed as the unexpected weight sent him straight to the floor.

"Is that what he did the first time?" Spike vaguely heard Wesley ask, even as he wrapped arms and legs around his captive.

"Pretty much, yeah, except he hit him at a run and blasted him halfway across the room."

"On his back."

"It was pretty funny."

"A-angel’s eyes w-w-were huge..."

"So, I suppose this proves that the spell didn’t work," Wesley sighed, ignoring the moan Angel apparently couldn’t hold in, or that one big hand had wrapped itself in Spike’s hair while the other was more interested in - lower areas.

"Nah," said a familiar voice, startling them all, "I’da done this, anyway."

"Spike!" Four different voices shrieked at the same time, apparently trying to shatter his sensitive eardrums.

"Ow," was his only comment, then he sank his fangs into Angel’s neck, feeling his Sire convulse and probably almost come beneath him.

"Oh - Gods - yes, he’s back - Spike, you’re - you’re evil..." Angel moaned.

"I try," he said smugly, lifting his head.

Angel’s hands immediately wrapped around his skull and held his head up. His mate’s dark, dark eyes stared into his, searching for something.

Spike shifted out of game face and gave him an utterly wicked smile.

Angel heaved a sigh of relief and wrapped both arms around him - then bit his neck.

Spike yelped and then the humans were blinking as a two-vampire tornado left the floor and nearly levitated up the stairs. A distant door echoed, and then there was silence.

Then there were howls.

"Great," Buffy muttered, "and they didn’t even say ‘thank you.’"

"Angel will thank _us_ tomorrow," Wesley huffed slightly, since the Slayer hadn’t really done anything - except to be partly responsible for the problem, in the first place.

"He should have said something tonight, instead of running off with that psycho!" She reached out and grabbed her purse, yanking it toward her.

Then started screaming angrily as it popped open and dumped wet dirt all down the front of her clothes.

"Spike! I’ll get you for that!"

 

 

*

 

 

"What’s she going to get you for?" Angel paused in mid-thrust to ask.

"Who the bloody hell cares?!" Spike shouted beneath him, " _move_!"

"Oh, right!" Angel obeyed.

Spike gave a happy groan and arched his back.

Angel stopped. "Spike - don’t ever do that to me again."

"Wasn’t my fault! Bloody _move!_ "

"Oh, right." Once again, Angel got back to business.

Then paused. "Because I love you no matter what, but I missed you."

"I was right there - Peaches, m’gonna kill ya if ya don’t movemoveMOVE!"

"Oh, right."

" _And_ if ya say ‘oh, right’, one more bloody effin’ time!"

Angel snickered. "By the way," he asked - though with the look in Spike’s eyes, he didn’t dare stop thrusting, " _do_ you know all the meanings of flowers like Wesley said you would?"

"Angel," Spike snarled, his fingers digging into Angel’s hips, "if you don’t shut up and get down t’business, I’ll fill yer ears with Marigolds, tape Balsam to yer eyelids, and stuff Almond blossoms up yer nose!"

"I take it that means ‘yes’ - I’ll have to look those up later," Angel laughed, then got down to business, thrusting so hard he nearly beat Spike’s head against the headboard.

"An’ I’ll pin a Heliotrope right over your heart," Spike sighed as they came, together.

Angel smiled, and wrapped himself around his smaller mate.

He’d have to look that one up, too. Later.

For now, he was going to lay here, and enjoy his William, his own snarky, sweet, wicked Boy - back with him.

Where he belonged. Remembering who he was, and who his mate was.

"Forget-me-not," he whispered, sure Spike was already asleep.

"I didn’t, an’ I won’t," came the faintest whisper back.

Angel sighed, and his eyes closed.

He slept.

 

 

 

 

‘ _Rosemary, that’s for remembrance._

_Pray, my love, remember...'_  
  
~ from an Agatha Christie novel

 

 

These are the flowers Spike was referring to:

African marigolds - for war, or anger

Almond blossoms for stupidity

Balsam for impatience

Heliotrope - ‘I adore thee.’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
